


Fight Another Day

by TooManyFandomstoCount



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BAMF Sansa Stark, BAMF Theon Greyjoy, Consent Issues, If You Think This Has A Happy Ending You Haven't Been Paying Attention, M/M, Mentions of past non con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24385609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyFandomstoCount/pseuds/TooManyFandomstoCount
Summary: Theon and Sansa have escaped as per the TV show, but Ramsay and his gang are not far behind.heed the trigger warnings!!!!!!
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Sansa Stark, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	Fight Another Day

The greens of the forest blur around them as two terrified beings run through as fast as possible. It could be an exhilarating run, a traipse through the dewy woods, an adrenaline-fueled exercise that leaves the body sore but the mind euphoric. It isn’t.

As they run, the tall thin figure’s hood drops slightly. The threadbare gray cloak now exposes a striking face with cold blue eyes, wisps of red hair fluttering in the breeze like a small but passionate fire. And fire is an apt description, for if one could see her eyes, they’d surely see the blue center of a flame, the hottest and most intense part. If eyes are the window to the soul then her soul is ablaze, raging and fierce yet controlled. But the sight is only visible for a second, and the few creatures that see her are not the type to tell tales. She stuffs the strand of hair into her hood, pulls it low over her face, huffing in exertion. The other figure fares no better. While the redhead brings fire to mind, this one is all water. He (it is a he, the rasping breaths and gait belong to a man) isn’t a healthy body of water-no, he is a lake that has been stopped up, a dam built to take his freedom away. He is the section of the river that dried up, left to evaporate in the sun. But there is possibility for him to become some of what he was, for the dam to break and the water to level out. Indeed, a trickle of himself is visible in those watery blue eyes, but there is so much pain and sorrow and mostly regret. His hood has long come off his head but he pays it no mind, tangled tawny locks flowing freely. He’s not handsome, not too ugly. He evokes pity in anyone who sees him, miserable and somehow beautiful for it. This one wears a kerchief around his neck and his raggedy clothes hang off his limp frame. He’s slower than the woman, and though his run is manlier, he has a severe limp. If one could see his clenched fist, they’d only see three whole fingers. The rags ride up his torso every so often during his run and his tan flesh is covered in purples, yellows, blacks, and blues, white scars and pale welts. There is even red every so often. It could explain why he runs slower than the woman.

Not very far behind them, a hunting party searches. Dogs bark and growl, and a man on a horse grins. He is handsome, but his smile is too sharp and his eyes too piercing. They are barely human in their paleness, like slivers of the moon, and there doesn’t seem to be a soul behind them, just chaos. His clothes boast importance and he holds his head high. He rides his horse with a threatening grace, like he takes pleasure in the hunt.

When the sound of barking and hoofbeats reaches the two figures, Fire and Water, they run with renewed vigor. They absolutely cannot be caught, and Fire keeps a kitchen knife strapped to her leg in case they are, that she might end their lives before _he_ captures them.

When they are caught, she doesn’t grab for the knife. It’s the last protection she has should the men rip open her dress and assault her, and she can’t afford to lose her only advantage in the coming brutality.

Water seems to fight with himself when he sees the man’s grin, his pale, pale eyes. What trickle of himself pushed past the dam dissolves into the ground, until the only remains are a small muddy puddle, soon to be evaporated.

The lord only has to give Water a look before Water is on his knees, begging to be spared whatever horrible fate is coming.

All three of them know it is useless.

“Well, well, well, Theon Greyjoy,” the man smirks down, and Water hasn’t heard that name in ages, barely registers it as his own.

“Reek, my name is Reek, Master,” he says.

“No it isn’t,” the man says. “Reek is a loyal servant, a good pet. And you have not been very good, have you? You have been Theon Greyjoy. It baffles the mind, why you’d want to be him again. How many people have you gotten killed, Theon? How many lives have you ruined? Why did you betray your family? Because Theon Greyjoy is a self-centered, arrogant, ruthless, cowardly little princess. I offered you absolution, Theon. I made you into something great. You were happier for it. But you threw it all away because you thought you knew better.” The man dismounts and crouches to Theon’s level. “But you don’t know better than me. I created you. I am your god and you have no concept of my power, yet you think you know better?” he says this low and calm, and somehow it’s worse than any scream. Somehow the words are worse than a flaying knife and Theon knows that pain intimately.

“Reek, my name is Reek, rhymes with freak. Reek, Reek, Reek,” Theon repeats like a mantra.

“Liar!” The man bellows and strikes Theon across the face. More red for the masterpiece that is his body.

“You ran away from me, Theon. You and my lovely wife. Sansa Stark,” he finally addresses the other, who is being held back by two men. “Has Theon ever told you what we do to runaways where I’m from?” the man asks, each word dripping with dark glee.

“Ramsay please,” she begs and he has to feel some kind of pleasure at that, at getting this proud and strong woman to bend.

“You won’t do it to her,” Theon says, and the trickle begins again from the dam, the trickle of himself, as blood trickles out of the corner of his mouth. “You need her intact, you need an heir. That’s why you’ll do it to me,” he says dully, but there is iron behind his words, like he’s resigned to his fate and yet accepts it with strength.

“Oh really? I thought you were Reek, my faithful servant who never questioned me,” Ramsay turns his attentions back to Theon. “And here you are, yet again pretending you know more than me. What do I care if her baby is not mine?”

“You care,” Theon says, a confidence in him that has been missing for far too long. “You’re too possessive to let anyone else hurt her, she’s yours. What if your men said something back home? It’d create doubt amongst all those who hate you and trust me, there are many who hate you,” he spits red tinted saliva at Ramsay’s feet.

Ramsay growls and slaps Theon again. “How many fingers will it take this time? How much can I flay away before you become my Reek again?” he asks in a rage.

Theon breathes in sharply. “Not much, honestly,” he says. “You could probably do it in seconds. But we both know that you get bored very easily. It’s why you go through women so fast, they bore you. If you turned me back into Reek, I’d bore you and eventually end the way those women did. You like it when people fight so you can tear the spirit out of them. It’s the only reason Myranda lasted so long…shame, what happened to her,” he gives Ramsay a bloody smirk.

In his head, the dam fights to keep all the insolence in, to return to normal. But he can see in his periphery the man holding his sister and he has a hand on her thigh and strokes it up and down and he remembers her wedding night and the dam starts to break.

Ramsay does not react with anger the way Theon expects him to.

Instead, he cradles Theon’s cheek. “Did you think you could replace her?” he asks. “Admittedly you are good with a bow and you too love your whores. I could take a knife and cut a cunt into that scar and fuck it, would you like that? Just like I did Myranda?”

“We both know I wouldn’t and it’s why you’ll love doing it anyway,” Theon sneers.

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly one of my favorites, I loved experimenting with descriptive writing. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.


End file.
